


Hot Cocoa for the Ineffable Soul

by SharkbaitHooHaHa



Series: Drabble Collections for the Ineffable Soul [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 13,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkbaitHooHaHa/pseuds/SharkbaitHooHaHa
Summary: A new year, a new ficlet collection! Chicken Soup reached fifty chapters, and it's a new decade, so I figured now was a good time for a new one!Mostly domestic fluff in here, since that seems to be all I can write when these two are involved, but even the angsty ones will always have a happy ending.Excerpt:“Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned in exasperation.“Just a second, darling, I’m almost done- Oh! Hold this,” Aziraphale said, as he added another book to the stack in Crowley’s arms that already went well above his head.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Drabble Collections for the Ineffable Soul [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590013
Comments: 138
Kudos: 169





	1. To Wander

It was one o'clock on a Sunday afternoon, and Aziraphale had somehow managed to lose his husband. Well, he wasn’t really ‘lost,’ per se. 'Temporarily misplaced’ was a far more accurate description, much like a certain child had been those many years ago. Regardless, Aziraphale was now standing among the selection of fruits at the grocer’s and Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

He sighed. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Crowley tended to get distracted quite easily. Aziraphale had accidentally left him behind on the French side of the Chunnel once, when the demon had wandered off to look at a particularly interesting weed sprouting up between the cracks in the pavement. Crowley _still_ brought that one up.

Aziraphale briefly wondered if he could somehow get Crowley to agree to wear one of those backpack leashes he had seen some people using on children, but the sulking that would most likely take place had him quickly dismissing the thought. Luckily, he could sense him nearby, so wherever he had gone off to, it wasn’t far.

He put his unpaid shopping down by the entrance to the supermarket, and followed Crowley’s aura until he found himself standing in front of the bakery just a little ways down the street. Through the glass window, he saw a familiar thatch of flaming hair, so he opened the door and stepped inside

Upon hearing the gentle tinkle of the bell above the entrance, Crowley turned around and his face broke into a grin, just as it always did- whenever they were apart, no matter how briefly, Crowley’s face would brighten whenever his eyes landed on Aziraphale again. 

It was the reason why, no matter how often it happened, Aziraphale could never really be annoyed with Crowley for his tendency to wander. In fact, he was well aware that his own features mirrored the same warmth, and he had a hunch it was that which led to the frequency of the habit in the first place. (Except for the Chunnel. By the heavens, he’d never hear the end of the Chunnel. You’d think that had been parted for _days_ by the way Crowley went on about it.)

“There you are,” he said softly, placing a gentle kiss on Crowley’s lips.

“Look at you, you managed not to board any trains without me,” Crowley teased.

“For the seven hundredth time, I was reading, and you know it,” Aziraphale grumbled as the lady behind the counter handed over a box of pastries to Crowley. He peered at it curiously. “What’s that?”

“Oh, I just got you a little something, that’s all,” Crowley said as they exited the bakery. “Shall we sit?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Let’s finish the shopping, and we’ll enjoy it when he get home.” And then he took Crowley’s hand in his own and didn’t release it until they returned to their shared cottage, save for one instance where he stopped to tie his shoe and then found Crowley several steps away, that same warm smile lighting up his face when Aziraphale caught up.


	2. But I Love You

_But I love you._ It was a thought that had echoed in Crowley’s mind for millennia.

Every time he watched the angel walk away. _But I love you._

The fear in those blue eyes at the idea of being caught with a demon. _But I love you._

Aziraphale pulling away from his touch as though burned. _But I love you._ Suggesting they call it a night early. _But I love you._ Being treated as the enemy. _But I love you._

Had he the strength, Crowley would have bared his soul. Confessed to the truth with a prayer on his lips. Laid himself at the mercy of his angel, and given himself to whatever imitation of worship his demonic soul would allow.

It was not to be. Crowley knew what he was. He could whisper _but I love you_ until his voice faded to nothing, until his lips cracked and bled to form the words. It wouldn’t change anything.

“You go to fast for me.” _But I love you._

“There is no our side.” _But I love you._

“I don’t even like you!” _But I love you. But I love you. But I love you._

If ever there were a time to say it, it would have been then, as the world began to crumble at his feet.

But, he didn’t. He couldn’t. And the world kept spinning. 

They sat in the Bentley outside the bookshop, their dinner at the Ritz concluded. For a brief moment, Crowley had seen what it might have been like, to be loved by Aziraphale.

It broke his heart.

Aziraphale still hadn’t left the car. “Want to come in? I have a lovely bottle of-”

“Best not.” His own voice sounded so far away.

Aziraphale looked disappointed. “Oh. But, Crowley, I- Surely you must know that I-” He faltered, trying to find the right words. And then, to Crowley’s complete shock, he said them. He grabbed Crowley’s hand, his eyes pleading with him to understand.

“But I love you.”

Something within Crowley broke, and everything he’d been holding back for thousands of the years came flooding to the surface. Aziraphale could feel it all, Crowley could tell by the look on his face. Confusion, then hope, the pure, unrestrained joy.

Crowley reached behind Aziraphale’s head, pulling him closer until their foreheads were touching. “You love me?” he whispered. Aziraphale nodded. “But I love you.”

Aziraphale reached up and carefully cradled Crowley’s face in his hands. “Oh, Crowley. But _I_ love _you_.”


	3. At A Loss

Aziraphale was at a bit of a loss. After all, how do you ask someone you’ve been dating for several centuries if they’d like to take the next step? Would a simple ‘will you marry me’ suffice? Or did the weight of all those years necessitate something with far more pageantry?

He fiddled with the ring (the winged one that used to find its home on his little finger) as he considered his options. It would be easiest to just wait it out and let _Crowley_ ask _him_ , but Aziraphale had grown far too impatient for that. After years of looking over his shoulder and keeping Crowley from getting too close out of fear of what might happen to him, now that they finally had some peace, Aziraphale found that not only did he want it, but he wanted it _now_.

He knew what Crowley would do in his shoes. The proposal itself would be big and dramatic, and would most likely be preceded of an entire day out, taking him to all the places that Crowley knew he liked. But as much as Crowley enjoyed making these grand gestures, he seemed to be entirely uncomfortable with receiving them. And wasn’t that what it was about? Doing something Crowley would like?

With that realization he decided to keep it as low-key as possible; simply give Crowley the ring and let the rest sort itself out. 

They were in the backroom of Aziraphale’s shop, enjoying a bottle of wine between the two of them. He waited until Crowley seemed sufficiently at ease before he set down his glass and moved to sit next to him on the couch. 

“Crowley, dear,” he began, gently taking Crowley’s hand in his own as he looked into Crowley’s eyes, the shades he typically wore having been discarded earlier in the evening. It was easy to get lost in those eyes, and he almost did until he remembered himself. Clearing his throat, he fished into his pocket to search for the ring. “I have something for you,” he said as he drew it out.

Crowley looked at the gold band in Aziraphale’s hand, then up at him. “It’s your ring.”

Well, at least his observation skills were intact. “Yes,” Aziraphale said patiently. “It’s yours if you want it.”

“Oh.” Crowley didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “Uh, sure. I mean, if you want me to have it.”

“I do,” Aziraphale said gently, a soft smile gracing his lips. “…May I put it on you?”

“Oh, yeah, why not?” 

Crowley spread his fingers and Aziraphale slipped on the ring. He was delighted to discover that it was a perfect fit. Until it occurred to him that Crowley had yet to actually give him an answer.

“So?” he asked, looking up hopefully through his eyelashes. “What do you say?”

Crowley, who had been gazing down at the ring, snapped out of his reverie. “Oh, right!” He smiled. “Thanks, Angel!”

Aziraphale watched dumbly as Crowley poured them each a glass of wine, and then resumed chattering away about whatever he had been talking about before, leaving Aziraphale to wonder about what exactly had just happened.

—

Aziraphale was at a bit of a loss. It had been several weeks now, and Crowley had yet to take off the ring. It should have made him happy, seeing the golden wings there on Crowley’s finger, but not like this. Not after the rejection and how easily Crowley had brushed it off.

He’d finally decided that he had enough. “Give it back,” he said, holding out his hand and standing before Crowley on the couch.

Crowley looked up from his phone and blinked. “Give _what_ back?”

“My ring,” Aziraphale said, extending his open hand more insistently. “Give it back.”

Crowley puled his left hand to his chest and curled his other hand around it protectively. “What? No! You gave me this ring! Why’d you give it to me if you were just going to ask for it back?”

“That ring was intended for my fiance, and since that’s not what you want to be, you need to give it back.” It sounded a bit silly to his own ears. As if he’d even want to give it to anybody else. Maybe later he’d give the ring back to Crowley as a symbol of what they already were, but for now, he stood his ground.

Granted, that would have been a lot easier, were Crowley not gaping at him as though he had suddenly declared he was going to sell every book he owned. “I- Your- _What?!_ Who said that’s not what I want to be?!”

“I…” Aziraphale looked less certain and his hand dropped a bit. “ _You_ did! When you didn’t accept my proposal!”

“You never said anything about it being a proposal!” Crowley countered, still cradling the hand with the ring close.

Aziraphale let out an exasperated huff of breath. “Well, I should’ve thought it was obvious, given how long we’ve been dating!”

Crowley froze. “We’ve been… dating?” His voice suddenly sounded so small.

_Oh._ “Oh.” _Shit._ “Bother.” He sat down heavily on top of the coffee table. “I mean… Haven’t we? All those dinners and those walks and those days at the park?”

“But- I thought- You said I go too fast for you!” Aziraphale hated how distressed Crowley looked. “ _You said you didn’t even like me!_ ”

Aziraphale could only blame his complete bewilderment over how far this conversation had gotten away from him for what happened next:

“Of course I don’t like you, you idiot, I _love_ you!” He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth. That… was not how he wanted to say it. Not for the first time. Heavens, it wasn’t even true. He _did_ like Crowley, in fact, he liked him so much that he had fallen in love with him.

He opened his mouth to explain this, but Crowley spoke before he could, jumping off the couch to land on his knees in front of Aziraphale.

“Let me take you on a date.” he pleaded. “A _proper_ date. Our first _official_ date, wherever you like, I’ll hire a violin quartet, we’ll order everything on the menu so you can sample it all, we’ll hold hands! I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise, I-”

Aziraphale silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Crowley,” he said with a gentle laugh. “You don’t have to woo me, I’m already yours.”

“I know,” Crowley said, but he sounded like he didn’t believe it, not yet. “I know, but I want to. Please, Angel, let me do this right.”

How could he say no to that? “In that case…” He smiled. “Pick me up at seven?”

Crowley grinned. It was so beautiful, that smile. 

“Oh!” he said suddenly, as though he had suddenly remembered something. “You wanted your ring back.”

He hid it well, but Aziraphale could see the disappointment in his eyes as he pulled the ring from his finger.

“Keep it,” Aziraphale said, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “In case you do want to marry me someday.”

Crowley scoffed. “Angel, I _already_ want to marry you, there’s just a lot of other things I want to do first.”

“Well, then.” Aziraphale snatched the ring from Crowley. “Crowley, dearest, after you have wooed me to your heart’s content, would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

“Aziraphale, of course, that’s what I _just said_ , I-” Aziraphale slipped the ring back onto Crowley’s finger. “…Oh.” Crowley held his hand up. “Well, look at that.”

That evening, their poor waiter was incredibly confused when Aziraphale informed him that it was their first date _and_ that Crowley was his fiance within the same breath.


	4. I Should Have Kissed You Then

“I should have kissed you then,” Aziraphale whispered against the corner of Crowley’s mouth. Crowley turned his head to capture Aziraphale’s lips with his own, and for a moment they were both lost in the closeness of the moment.

He broke away and Crowley whimpered in protest. “On the wall,” he murmured against salt skin. “On the Ark.” He brought their foreheads together. “In Ro-mmph.” Crowley angled his head up to steal the words from his mouth, but Aziraphale wasn’t finished yet.

He buried his face into Crowley’s shoulder, his lips moving against the juncture of skin at the base of his neck. “When we made the Arrangement.” He wanted a taste of those lips again, and moved his head up to do so. “At the Church.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley sighed, simultaneously sounding both fond and exasperated.

“At the bus stop. I definitely should have kissed you then.” He could feel Crowley shaking with silent laughter beneath him.

“Would you rather go on about all the times you _should_ have kissed me, or would you actually like to kiss me _now_?” Crowley asked, his tone so, so warm.

Aziraphale pretended to consider. “…At the Ritz.”

Crowley kissed his way along Aziraphale’s jawline. “You’re impossible.”

Aziraphale smiled. “You love it.”

“I do,” Crowley agreed, kissing him again. “I really, really do.”


	5. Morning Breath

Crowley was rarely treated to the sight of Aziraphale sleeping. The last time it had happened had been several years ago, so he was pleasantly surprised when he awoke to find a curled up angel sound asleep next to him.

Crowley had a tendency to sprawl out when he slept, long limbs reaching from one side of the bed to the other. Aziraphale was the exact opposite, making himself small as possible with knees tucked up to his chest and one hand curled beneath his chin. His other hand was the only exception, reaching out to drape itself lazily across Crowley’s stomach.

He was quite a sight like this, expression relaxed and peaceful with his messy golden curls scattered around his face. Crowley almost hated to disturb him. Almost. But he desperately wanted to see those gorgeous blue eyes, that sweet smile.

He gently ran his knuckle along Aziraphale’s jawline. He stirred slightly but did not wake. Not wanting to disturb the arm laying on top of him, Crowley gently grabbed the hand under Aziraphale’s chin and uncurled it to lace its fingers with his own, laying soft kisses upon each fingertip as he did.

Eventually, he was rewarded with Aziraphale’s eyes fluttering open and a lazy smile tugging at the angel’s lips. “Morning,” he murmured. “I take it it’s time to get up.”

“Nah.” Crowley smiled. “Just wanted to say ‘hi.’“

“Oh?” Aziraphale’s smile stretched wider. “Well, go on then.”

Crowley untangled his hand from Aziraphale’s to place a kiss against his palm. “Hi.”

“Hello, dearest.” Aziraphale placed a hand on the back of Crowley’s neck to briefly bring their lips together. His nose wrinkled as he pulled away. “Your breath is horrid.”

Crowley smirked and breathed directly into Aziraphale’s face, causing him to squirm and turn his head away.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale whined, exasperation and amusement conflicting within his tone.

“Shh,” Crowley whispered with a laugh, pulling Aziraphale toward him until they were pressed close, limbs tangled together.

Aziraphale gave a few more cursory grumbles, but soon enough his breathing returned to the slow and even rhythm of sleep, with Crowley following close behind.


	6. Let it sink in

Aziraphale, part-time bookseller and full-time bastard, simply turned the page in his book as Crowley dumbfoundedly stumbled to the couch and collapsed upon it, his face a bright red and incomprehensible syllables spilling from his mouth.

“You love me?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale, his attention mostly focused on the words on the page before him, simply hummed in affirmation. The first time Crowley had turned into a useless blushing mess after Aziraphale told him he loved him, he had been terribly concerned for the demon’s well-being, fearing for a brief moment that such statements were toxic to his very nature. The third and fourth times, he had been terribly concerned for the demon’s memory, unable to understand why it hadn’t sunk in, yet. Now, he was only terribly concerned for how this story would tie up all of its loose ends with less than ten pages left.

“You _love_ me,” Crowley repeated, still sounding dazed.

“I do,” Aziraphale agreed.

“ _You_ love _me_!”

“Yes, dear.”

Aziraphale could feel the full force of Crowley’s attention on him, so he closed his book while using his finger to mark the page and turned his head to meet an adoring gaze.

“I love you, too,” Crowley whispered reverently.

Aziraphale could do nothing but smile at that. Leaning forward, he met Crowley’s lips with his own for a sweet and gentle kiss.

“I do have to ask, though,” Aziraphale said when they finally broke apart. “Is this going to happen _every_ time?”

“Ssshut up,” Crowley grumbled, trying to look casual as he sprawled across the couch. The position looked rather precarious, but he somehow managed to balance himself. “I don’t make _that_ big of a deal out of it.”

“Of course not, darling,” Aziraphale said as he reopened his book. “Oh, and Crowley?”

“Yeah?” Crowley’s typical drawl had returned.

The barest hint of a smirk curled at the corner of Aziraphale’s lips. “I love you.”

As predicted, Crowley let out an undignified yelp as he tumbled loudly to the floor.


	7. Shake a Tail Feather

“Alright, Angel, you sit here…” Crowley maneuvered Aziraphale to sit on the couch that he had moved to the middle of the shop. Once the angel was seated, Crowley spent several minutes fretting over the arrangement and fluffiness of the pillows and cushions until Aziraphale waved him away.

“Crowley, really, this is fine!” he huffed. “What is this all about?”

“Right. Okay.” Crowley took a few steps away from the couch and got into position. “Now just… watch,” he said as he went over the steps one more time in his head.

_“There has to be a better way,” Crowley growled, not for the first time that afternoon, as he balanced precariously on one leg and tried to keep the snake sway of his hips from sending him crashing to the ground.  
_

_Pepper crossed her arms. “Do you want the angel to like you, or not?”_

_Crowley made a distressed sound deep in his throat. “Of course I do! It’s just- I’m a snake, not a bird.”_

_“But Mr. Aziraphale isn’t a snake,” Adam pointed out.  
_

_“That doesn’t make him a bird!” Crowley argued.  
_

_“But he does have wings like a bird,” Wensleydale pointed out. “So the same standards must apply.”  
_

_“…I guess?” said Crowley, who didn’t actually know.  
_

_“Do you want our help or not?” Pepper demanded, arms still crossed.  
_

_“Alright, alright, fine!” Crowley relented. “Show me the steps again.”_

Crowley glanced at the Them through the shop window, and they gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Here goes nothing,” Crowley muttered under his breath as he unfurled his wings. He tucked his hands under his shoulders so that his elbows stuck out and bent at the hip to put his ass on display (”It’s too bad you don’t have tail feathers,” Wensleydale had said.) Then, just as the Them had shown him, he began hopping about, first to the right, then to the left, back again, and repeat, bobbing his head all the while.

Aziraphale watched for a few moments, his head tracking Crowley’s movements with an utterly bewildered look on his face. “Crowley, wait.” He stood from the couch, his hands outstretched towards Crowley as though to calm him down. “Crowley, Crowley, stop, stop, stop.” He got his hands secured around Crowley’s wrists and managed to still the dancing(?) demon. “There we go.”

Crowley frowned. “Did I do it wrong?”

“Er…” Aziraphale would have had a better idea of how to answer that if he had known what ‘it’ was. A chortle from outside the shop clued him in and he turned just in time to catch a glimpse of the Them before they ducked out of sight. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he muttered and sent them all back to their respective homes with a wave of his hand, along with a very stern letter about pranking Crowley that they would undoubtedly ignore.

He turned back to Crowley with a smile. “You don’t need to court me, darling,” he said gently. “I’m already yours.”

At Crowley’s wide-eyed stare, he paused. “You… _did_ know that, didn’t you?”

Crowley let out a range of noises that all together might have been a rather unconvincing ‘yes.’

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale laughed and placed a soft kiss against Crowley’s cheek. “Just what am I going to do with you?”


	8. Tell Me Again

“Tell me again?” Crowley pleaded in a small voice.

Aziraphale was more than happy to oblige. “I love you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s middle and pulling him close so his back was flush to his chest. “I loved you in the garden,” he said, placing a soft kiss against the hairline at the back of Crowley’s neck. “I loved you on the ark.” He feels Crowley shudder in his lap, his body slowly untensing.

“I’ve loved you always.” Crowley’s voice cracks on the words. “Always, Angel.”

“Shh, shh, I know,” Aziraphale hushes against the shell of Crowley’s ear as he runs his fingers soothingly through his hair. “I know, my love.”

“I loved you in Rome.” He smiled fondly at the memory of their first meal together. “Even though you hated the oysters.”

Crowley chuckled at that, recalling the look of disgust and horror on Aziraphale’s face when Crowley had opened his mouth and let the partially chewed shellfish drop onto the table. 

“I loved you at the globe,” Aziraphale continued. “At the Bastille. I loved you even when you disappeared for for an entire century.”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley choked out.

Aziraphale hushed him again. “No, no, darling, none of that.” He kissed Crowley’s temple. “I loved you at the end of the world. And I’m so glad it’s still spinning, so that I can keep loving you.” He kissed Crowley’s cheek. “And keep telling you.”

Crowley turned his head to meet Aziraphale’s lips in a kiss.

“I’ll never stop loving you, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s lips when they briefly broke apart. “I promise.”


	9. Reminders

Demons can’t love. Aziraphale had known this to be true for thousands of years. Demons can’t love, so don’t get the wrong idea. Demons can’t love, so don’t let him too close, don’t let him in. Demons can’t love, so whatever you do, do not fall in love.

But fall he did. Headfirst, in a dramatic plunge, right in the middle of the ruins of a church. (In the Bastille, at that first successful production of hamlet, amongst the smell of salt and seafood, against the swaying of the ark. In Eden. God help him, but it started in Eden. He never even stood a chance.)

Demons can’t love. Save yourself from heartbreak. Push him away.

It took Armageddon for him to realize the truth, and oh, what a fool he had been.

Crowley loved him. It was in his eyes, in his smile, in the soft press of lips against his own, in the tangle of fingers in Aziraphale’s hair.

Crowley loved him. Always had. (In the rescuing of books, in the disappearing of shackles, in the miracle of Hamlet, in the darkness of the ark. In Eden. God bless it, how blind they had been, loving each other since Eden. They never even stood a chance.)

Sometimes he would forget, his mind going back to the days when he had been so certain of the impossibility of what they had. But Crowley would be there, gently coaxing him back to the present with the warmth of his arms, the words from his lips. Bringing him back to the future that stretched before them.

Demons can’t love. But Crowley was always happy to remind him of the truth.


	10. Anthony J. Crowley-Fell

“Anthony J. Crowley-Fell, just what do you think you’re doing?” 

Having been caught, Crowley froze, the ball of cookie dough he had stolen hovering halfway between the counter and his lips. After a moment, without breaking eye contact with Aziraphale, he popped the whole thing in his mouth. “Nothing,” he said innocently as he reached to grab another.

Aziraphale shooed his hand away with a rubber spatula. “Crowley!”

Crowley continued to stare at him with mischief in his eyes. “That’s Mr. Crowley-Fell to you, Mr. Fell-Crowley.”

Aziraphale fought back a smile. “Well, _Mr. Crowley-Fell_ ,” he said, and now he _was_ smiling.

“Yes, Mr. Fell-Crowley?” Crowley drawled smoothly.

Aziraphale laughed. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“ _You_ married me,” Crowley pointed out. “You’re equally ridiculous.”

There was no arguing that. “ _Crowley!_ ” Aziraphale smacked his hand away again. “Mr. Crowley-Fell,” he corrected when Crowley opened his mouth to point out his mistake. “Please. These are for my book club.” Aziraphale scooped up another ball of dough and deposited it onto the baking tray. “Stop pouting, I know what you’re trying to do.”

“’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are, you’re trying to trick me into giving you more cookie dough. It’s not going to happen,” Aziraphale insisted, waving the cookie scoop sternly in Crowley’s face.

Crowley pretended to be offended. “I’m doing no such thing.”

“Crowley. Mr. Crowley-Fell. My husband. Love of my life.” Aziraphale could play this game, too. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Fffine.” Crowley sighed dramatically, crossing his arms on the counter and laying his head on top of them.

Aziraphale only lasted about two and a half minutes before he was hand-feeding the devious demon little bites of cookie dough. “Oh, stop looking so smug.” He sounded cross, but then he smiled. “Anthony J. Crowley-Fell.”


	11. Too Domestic

Aziraphale had committed a grave mistake. Awful. Unforgivable. A terrible lapse in judgement. It left him entirely unable to concentrate, and at this rate, he’d have to close up the shop early (oh, the horror.)

It was Crowley’s fault, really, that devious little serpent. He had arrived that morning an hour before Aziraphale opened, as he did more often than not in the weeks following their trials (okay, so it was _every_ morning,) and proceeded to make himself comfortable on a couch (which hadn’t been there before) in the middle of the shop.

And then he had complained of being cold. Aziraphale, not expecting him to actually say ‘yes,’ had offered him the use of one of his sweaters. Not only did Crowley accept, however, but he surprisingly put the blasted thing on with no complaint, even when Aziraphale had procured the most ridiculously tartan item of clothing that he owned.

Aziraphale had expected Crowley’s skinny frame to look ridiculous in the oversized sweater, which he did, to an extent. But he also looked completely adorable, and it was driving Aziraphale mad.

He _liked_ Crowley looking like this, calm and content and perfectly at home in Aziraphale’s shop while wearing Aziraphale’s clothes. It made him realize, suddenly and with stunning clarity, just how badly he wanted this. How badly he had _always_ wanted this; Crowley sharing his space, and his possessions (he’d even be willing to let Crowley touch his books without watching him intently, and wasn’t _that_ a startling revelation,) and his time. _All_ of his time. If given the rest of eternity, he’d only want to spend it with Crowley.

It was all so ridiculously domestic and Crowley would undoubtedly scoff if Aziraphale were ever to give voice to these desires.

With a loud sigh, Aziraphale snapped his fingers, locking the door and flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed.’

This attracted Crowley’s attention enough that he looked up from his phone. “Closing already?”

“The shop’s been open long enough,” Aziraphale said primly. 

Crowley looked unconvinced. “Angel, you were barely open five minutes.”

“Yes. Well.” This was a disaster. He needed to reclaim his sweater, and hopefully some of his dignity along with it. “I’ll be taking my sweater back now.”

Crowley blinked owlishly up at him. “What?”

If Crowley wore that blasted sweater any longer Aziraphale would most assuredly do something foolish. Like ask Crowley to _live_ with him. “You heard me.”

“ _Why?_ ”

It was a fair question. One that Aziraphale didn’t really have a sensible answer to. “Because it looks ridiculous.”

“It’s _your sweater_ , Angel.”

“Yes. Precisely. It’s mine. Now give it here.” Aziraphale held out his hand expectantly.

Crowley stared him down a long time before finally answering. “…No.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to blink. He honestly hadn’t been expecting that. “No?”

“No,” Crowley repeated petulantly.

“ _Why not?_ ” 

“Because.”

This was ridiculous. “Because _why?_ ”

“Because I like it!”

“Like it?” Aziraphale scoffed. “You _hate_ tartan!”

“Well, it’s not the tartan I like!”

“Then what?”

“I like the smell.”

This conversation was getting more and more confusing by the second. “The _smell_?”

“Yes!” They were shouting now, and neither of them seemed to know why.

“Crowley, it doesn’t even have a smell!” 

“Yes, it does!”

“What could it possibly smell like?!”

“It smells like you!”

Aziraphale froze.

Crowley turned bright red. “Er… I-I mean.”

Now Aziraphale was just confused. Well, sure it would smell like him, but why should that matter?

Crowley was still stammering out an explanation. “Y-yeah.” He sniffed at the sweater. “Ugh. Gross. It smells like you.”

Crowley pulled the sweater over his head and threw it at Aziraphale, and when the knitted wool hit him in the face smelling slightly of Crowley, Aziraphale understood, and his face lit up like the sun as he gazed down at Crowley.

“Ssshut up!” Crowley hissed, even though Aziraphale hadn’t said anything.

“And here I was afraid _I_ was being too domestic, enjoying the look of you in my clothes,” Aziraphale said with a laugh. He leaned down to place a quick kiss against Crowley’s cheek and the demon blushed even harder.

“You are,” Crowley muttered. “ _Way_ too domestic.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and Crowley was wearing the sweater once more. “Says the demon who comes over every day to keep me company in my shop.”

“Ngk.” Crowley pulled the neck of the sweater over his face so that only his yellow eyes were visible, glaring at Aziraphale as he lifted Crowley’s legs and made himself comfortable on the couch before lowering them back into his lap.

“‘m never giving this back,” Crowley mumbled after a moment, refusing to look at Aziraphale out of embarrassment.

Aziraphale patted Crowley’s leg. “Good. Keep it.” He sat quietly for a moment in thought, and it wasn’t until Crowley’s blush had mostly disappeared that he casually asked, “What do you think about living together?” and quietly enjoyed the splash of red resurfacing on Crowley’s cheeks.


	12. Smudge

“Oh, Crowley, dear, wait a moment!” Aziraphale called after Crowley.

“What now, Angel?” Crowley said crossly, still playing up that he was very put out over Aziraphale’s request for pastries, as if he weren’t already eagerly anticipating the thankful smile Aziraphale would give him when he got back.

“You’ve got a little something on your face,” Aziraphale said, tapping his finger against his own cheek. “Right here.”

Crowley wiped the back of his hand across the indicated cheek and then held his hands up in a ‘well?’ gesture.

“Oh, no, sorry, my dear, other side.” Aziraphale tapped his other cheek.

Crowley rubbed a thumb over his other cheek. 

“A bit lower.”

Crowley tried again. “Better?” he asked, clearly getting annoyed with this entire process.

“Not quite,” Aziraphale said, moving his finger along his own jaw. 

“Aziraphale, I’m barely going to be out five minutes, I don’t care if there’s something on my face,” he grumbled, moving to turn back towards the door.

Aziraphale caught his arm. “Here, let me,” he said, and stood on his tiptoes to kiss Crowley very soundly on the lips. “There!” He beamed proudly as he pulled away. “Got it!”

“Bwuh-?!” Ah, Crowley did so have a way with words. “Tha- I- Er-” Crowley jerked his thumb towards the door, indicating that he should get going if he was going to make it back with the pastries before their drinks got cold.

“Oh, just one more thing!” Aziraphale stopped him.

Crowley looked at him with a dazed expression.

“Ah, never mind, actually, it’s fine.” Aziraphale decided against telling him that he had neglected to use a miracle to avoid smudging Crowley’s lipstick, as he usually did, and that now he was about to walk out the door with make up that gave off strong ‘has-just-been-snogged-thoroughly’ vibes.

He was hardly going to be gone five minutes, after all.


	13. Bad at Being an Angel

Aziraphale was bad at being an angel. He knew this. Heaven had always made it very clear that it was so.

It wasn’t that he didn’t try. How many times had he gone against his own beliefs just to obey? But for every ten times that he followed the rules, there would always be one time he didn’t. That was what they focused on. Not the times he tried, but the times he failed.

He wished he could be better.

When he met Crowley (who was, incidentally, bad at being a demon) that fact became even more painfully obvious. Angels were not supposed to befriend demons, after all. To admire them. To want them. To _love_ them.

Aziraphale was bad at being an angel.

It was evident every time he sheltered Crowley with his wings. Every time he looked at him as though he were the most holy thing in the world. Every time he pressed his lips to skin that was surprisingly soft for a snake. Every moment spent lost in those yellow eyes. Every ‘I love you’ that spilled from his lips as a devotional prayer.

And something began to shift. Every action that would have earned him a reprimand from heaven was seen as praise-worthy in Crowley’s eyes.

“Angel. My angel,” he would whisper, never finding him lacking or undeserving.

So, perhaps Aziraphale was bad at being an angel. But it didn’t sting the way it used to.

After all, being bad at being an angel was what made him so good at being Crowley’s everything.


	14. Scrummy

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, the exasperation in his tone betrayed by the smile threatening to take over his lips. “Darling, what _are_ you doing?”

Crowley glared at him, the effects of which were rather lost by the thick layer of flour that blanketed his face. “Nothing,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, silly me,” Aziraphale teased. “You see, for a moment, I thought you were baking.”

Crowley surveyed the mess he had made of the kitchen, flour, eggs and sugar smearedeverywhere. “Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Definitely not… baking.” He sighed. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Angel. The recipe looked simple enough. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Aziraphale pointed to himself. “For me?” he asked, with feigned shock.

“You know damned well it was for you, you blessed fool,” Crowley snapped.

“Why, Crowley,” Aziraphale gushed, placing a hand over his heart. “That’s so lovely of you.”

“ _Angel-_ ”

“It’s like you love me,” Aziraphale continued, all bright smiles and gentle laughter.

“Adam give me streng- Hey, stay back, I’ll mess up your waistcoat!”

Aziraphale miracled both the kitchen and Crowley clean with a snap of his fingers so that he could pull Crowley close and capture his lips. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Scrumptious.”


	15. Hearts

Aziraphale was fairly certain that Crowley wasn’t doing it on purpose, but in the weeks following Almostgeddon, his bookshop had slowly started to transform. Not anything relating to his precious books or their arrangement, mind you, even Crowley’s subconscious knew better than that. No, it was just little things. 

For instance, whenever Aziraphale enjoyed a cup of tea, he’d find that the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup had formed a perfect heart shape. All of his windows had adopted a very slight pinkish tint. He opened his cash drawer one morning to find it filled with confetti hearts. Every plant in his shop had bloomed into a beautiful red rose, which was especially odd because all of his plants were fake and silk.

And now, as he sat next to Crowley on the couch, he noticed that the ridiculous skinny scarf that Crowley always wore had adopted a tartan pattern, and Aziraphale was absolutely positive that it had been grey when Crowley had shown up that afternoon.

Aziraphale was talking about a topic that he was sure Crowley couldn’t care less about, but the demon didn’t seem to mind, listening to him speak with a gentle smile softening his usually rough expression. Crowley had always devoted himself to Aziraphale in that way, whether he wore the smile or not. 

Before, being the focus of such attention had worried Aziraphale. Crowley wore it so plainly for anyone to see, and Aziraphale had feared their head offices might notice. Now, though… They didn’t have to worry about that anymore, did they?

He was trying to figure out how to best bring up that very subject when little floating hearts started unfurling around Crowley’s head. The demon didn’t even notice until Aziraphale reached forward and plucked one out of the air. “Interesting,” he commented curiously.

Crowley began wildly swatting at the hearts, which scattered from his flailing hands but did not disappear. “This- Urk- Angel, this isn’t what it looks like!”

Aziraphale cradled the heart in his hands. It was soft and light, like a feather, but smelled sweet like freshly watered plants, and when he looked closely he could make out the faintest pattern of snake scales. It was so very Crowley and he smiled warmly.

“Angel.” Crowley stretched out his hand, palm open. “Aziraphale, give me back my heart.” It took a moment, but his face turned a deep red as he realized the implication of his words. “I-I mean-”

“Hmm,” Aziraphale hummed softly in contemplation and then tucked the heart into his breast pocket. “No, I don’t think I shall.”

“ _Angel-_ ”

“It hardly seems fair, after all,” he commented idly. “Seeing as _you_ have _mine._ ”

Crowley stared. “Wot?!”

“To put it plainly, my darling, I love you.”

“Y-You do?”

Aziraphale grinned, feeling light and free after the admission. “I do.”

Crowley rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and looked around the room, avoiding eye contact. “You love me. How embarrassing. F-for you, I mean.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said calmly, patiently waiting for him to meet his gaze. When he finally did, Aziraphale asked, “Are you going to keep being ridiculous, or would you like to kiss me?”

In absolutely no time flat, Crowley had scrambled across the couch to land in Aziraphale’s lap and was pressing their lips together wither a fervored passion.


	16. I like big books and I cannot lie

“Aziraphale,” Crowley groaned in exasperation.

“Just a second, darling, I’m almost done- Oh! Hold this,” Aziraphale said, as he added another book to the stack in Crowley’s arms that already went well above his head.

Crowley sighed, but did not complain any further. In truth, he knew that this was the way his day was going to go the moment he had spied the used bookstore down the street from the restaurant where Aziraphale had suggested they have lunch.

Luckily, he had been able to usher Aziraphale inside to sit down and enjoy their meal before the angel had noticed the little shop with the adorable sign, but they had hardly stepped back outside before Crowley heard Aziraphale’s excited little ‘ooh!’

Several hours and three stacks of books later (he had already taken two to the register, paid for them, and loaded them into the Bentley; Aziraphale hadn’t noticed his absence either time and simply gave him more books to hold when he got back,) and Crowley was beginning to wonder if they should apply for a change of address and have all their mail forwarded here, since this was apparently where they lived, now.

“And take this one.” Aziraphale handed him another book, and then let out an annoyed sigh as he turned around. “Crowley,” he said crossly. “Why are you holding so many books?”

Crowley silently peered around the stack to give him an unimpressed stare.

“Er, right,” Aziraphale had the decency to look at least a _little_ sheepish. “I suppose we should take these to the register, then.”

Finally, Crowley left the store with several bags of books _and_ Aziraphale at his side. He loaded the new bags into the backseat with the others, and when Aziraphale saw how many there were he let out a cry of dismay.

“Oh, Crowley!”

“What?” Crowley looked over the books carefully, thinking he had damaged some of them in one of his trips to the car, but they looked fine. “What?” he asked again.

“You weren’t supposed to let me buy anything,” he said, letting out a frustrated huff of breath. “You _know_ we don’t have room for these!”

“Would you like to return them?” Crowley asked patiently

Aziraphale looked scandalized.

“That’s what I thought.” Crowley laughed fondly. “Come on, Angel.” He climbed into the driver’s seat and Aziraphale slid into the passenger seat next to him. “We’ll find room for these somewhere. Maybe we can get throw away all the pastries and keep them in the kitchen cupboards.”

Aziraphale gasped in horror. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Crowley leaned over and gently kissed Aziraphale. “Of course not, Angel,” he said with a grin as he started the car. “I’ll just have to move out so you can have more room for your books.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sounded more offended by _that_ suggestion than he had at the returning of the books or the tossing out of the pastries, and Crowley laughed loudly as he peeled away from the curb.


	17. Aziraphale's 'Type'

“I-it’s like- it’s like-” Crowley waved his hands around vaguely. “Ya know?”

Aziraphale, who did _not_ know but, like Crowley, was far too drunk for a proper conversation, nodded sagely. “Of course.”

“And then you’re just like-” Crowley emphatically gestured at Aziraphale. “And I’m just like-” He waved a hand up and down his own body with much less enthusiasm and a disappointed sort of noise. “Ya know?”

“Yeee- no,” Aziraphale admitted. He had absolutely no idea what Crowley was talking about, but he could sense that Crowley was actually trying to say something important with those fluttering hands and wide eyes. “Maybe we should sober up?” he suggested.

“No, no, no,” Crowley insisted with a dismissive flap of his hand. He stared off into the distance as if deep in contemplation, though it was more likely that he had simply lost his train of thought.

“I love you,” he suddenly said out of nowhere, startling Aziraphale into nearly dropping his wine. “You know that, right?”

He did. It took a few minutes of Crowley staring at him expectantly for him to realize that he hadn’t actually said so out loud. “I do.” And then, just because he wanted to say it, he added, “I love you, too.”

Crowley blushed. “Yes, Angel, _I know_!”

“You’re shy,” Aziraphale giggled.

“ _Aziraphale_ ,” Crowley whined. “I’m trying to make a point here!”

“Right, right,” Aziraphale said with forced seriousness. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. Not even a little bit.

“Anyway,” Crowley continued. “I know you love me, but I’m not really your type, am I?”

Of all the things Crowley had said that evening, this one made the least amount of sense. “What?”

“Ya know,” Crowley said waving his hands at the many bookshelves surrounding them. “It’s like- I _hate_ reading!”

Aziraphale let out a loud hoot of laughter. 

“I’m serious, Angel,” Crowley cried in dismay. “When I realized you loved me back I tried to like it, I really, _really_ did! But it’s just the silence, and the words, and I was reading the same sentence over and over and over again- Aziraphale, stop laughing!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale choked out between snorts of laughter. “I don’t particularly care for your car.”

“What?” Crowley blinked. “What does _that_ have to do with anythi-”

“The way you drive. It’s soooo…” Aziraphale motioned with his hands to mimic a car swerving back and forth on the road. “But I enjoy riding along with you, even if you _do_ try to discorporate us.”

“I _know_ that,” Crowley said. “So what?”

“Sooooo…” Aziraphale dragged out the word pointedly. “You don’t enjoy reading. But you sit with me all the time while _I’m_ reading, and you seem to like it well enough.”

“I just like being with you,” Crowley mumbled as he refilled his wine glass.

“Exactly!” Aziraphale stuck his finger in the air triumphantly.

“…Oh.”

“And as for my type,” Aziraphale began, popping the p.

“Writers? Poets? Really hot librarians?” Crowley suggested.

“No, you daft demon.” Aziraphale placed a slightly sloppy kiss on Crowley’s cheek. “My type is _you_.”


	18. Learning Curve

There was a bit of a learning curve that came with loving Aziraphale freely, without restraint.

Crowley had just begun to accept that there would always be a distance between them, a door that he could never walk through. But, then Aziraphale flipped his whole world on its head with three simple words, spoken so easily, so effortlessly through the angel’s pink lips.

_I love you._

Hands that he once had to force to his sides and curl into fists just to keep them from reaching, reaching across that broad expanse of _your side and my side_ and _you go too fast for me,_ were suddenly allowed to touch, and _oh_ , but it was _terrifying_. He could never quite bring himself to go farther than fingers hovering, longing to make contact with angel soft skin, to entangle themselves in golden curls.

Soft lips were now free for him to claim, and yet he found himself diverting at the last moment, only pressing kisses upon a forehead or a blushing cheek. His own lips would tingle as he pulled away, hating himself for not following through.

Words that he once had to bite on his tongue to keep secret now could be spoken into existence. Still, whenever he tried they got caught in his throat, suffocating him and dying out before they could make their way past his lips.

Luckily, Aziraphale understood and was there to meet him halfway.

He derived meaning from stammered half-words and choked off sounds. “I love you, too,” he’d say, smiling brightly and taking Crowley’s hands in his own.

Kissed placed anywhere but his lips were met with a gentle laugh and smile-scrunched eyes. “Come here, dearest,” he’d say, grabbing Crowley and tugging him back in to join their lips in a blaze of warmth and love.

He’d lean into barely-there touches, and pull him close to wrap him tightly in those sweet, plush arms, and Crowley relaxed in the grip, so sure in its security, so happy in its embrace. Held like that, he could let his hands wander, sweeping carefully through golden curls, making divots in soft, giving flesh.

There was a learning curve, sure. But with Aziraphale’s help, Crowley was figuring it out.


	19. You Missed

“-But then as I was just closing up, when _another_ customer walked up and-oh.” Aziraphale paused his rant to look over at the demon who was drifting off on the other side of the couch. “Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear, I’m afraid I got carried away again.”

Crowley smiled lazily at him. “’S okay,” he murmured, his voice thick and slow with the promise of sleep. “I like hearing you talk.”

Aziraphale gave him a warm smile in return. “Yes, dearest, but I believe the whole reason I came over here was to give you a goodnight kiss, not complain about unruly customers.”

Crowley blushed happily. “Well, get on with it, then.”

“Yes, I best should.” Aziraphale leaned in to place a gentle kiss on Crowley’s temple, right on the edge of his hairline. “Goodnight, my love. Sleep well.”

Crowley’s face scrunched up in discontent. “You missed.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale’s eyebrow rose playfully and he pressed a kiss onto Crowley’s cheek. “Would you like it here, then?”

“Angel.”

“Perhaps, here?” Aziraphale laid a soft kiss on the shell of Crowley’s ear.

“Really, Angel?” Amusement shone in Crowley’s eyes. “Whoever heard of a goodnight kiss on the ear?”

“My apologies,” Aziraphale said, his voice showing absolutely no signs of remorse. “Allow me to try again.” This time the kiss landed in the very center of Crowley’s forehead.

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley all but whined, now trying to capture Aziraphale’s lips with his own. “ _Kiss me!_ ”

“Darling, I am!” Despite all the wriggling he managed to hit his target on the tip of Crowley’s nose.

“You’re an awful, awful angel, and you’re killing your demon,” Crowley said flatly.

Aziraphale laughed brightly. “No need for dramatics, my dear.” He acted like he was finally going to kiss Crowley where he wanted him to, but changed course at the very last second and hit his chin, instead.

“Oh, for anybody-who’s-listening’s sake!” Crowley was pouting now.

Aziraphale only laughed more and finally, finally brought their lips together, kissing Crowley slowly, with no rush at all. “Better?” he asked, once they pulled apart.

“Not quite.” Before Aziraphale realized what Crowley was planning, he found himself tightly circled by long arms and legs. “ _That’s_ better.”

“Now you’re just being spiteful,” Aziraphale accused, though there was no malice to his tone.

Crowley closed his eyes and smiled. “Demon,” was all he offered in explanation.

Normally, Aziraphale did not partake in the act of sleep, but he found that, wrapped as he was in Crowley’s embrace, the temptation was near impossible to ignore. “Move over,” he murmured, pushing himself farther onto the couch that was now the size of a bed. Crowley grumbled in protest, but made room for Aziraphale.

“I ‘spose you’ll want a goodnight kiss as well?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale hummed happily in affirmation.

Crowley placed a reverent kiss upon the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “That where you want it?” he teased.

Aziraphale smiled. “You missed.”


	20. Unpacking

“Aziraphale?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re doing it again.”

Aziraphale continued to kiss his husband who enthusiastically kept kissing him back. “I don’t see you trying to stop me.”

Crowley smiled against his lips. “What can I say, Angel, you’re a natural at temptation.”

Aziraphale huffed and made his resentment of that statement known by nipping at Crowley’s lower lip. He feared the point may have gone over his head, though, when Crowley sighed happily in response. 

“It’s because I married the kindest demon ever.”

Aziraphale chuckled lightly amidst the demon’s sputters of protest and began kissing his way down his neck. “What were we supposed to be doing, again?” 

“We… Gyuh… We were… Mmph… I think… Ngk…” Crowley closed his eyes and kissed Aziraphale slowly, like the angel was a fine wine that he wanted to savor. Suddenly his eyes snapped open as he recalled the task at hand. “Books… Books! Books!”

Aziraphale, not quite ready to give Crowley up and get back to work, grabbed that ridiculously skinny scarf and pulled him back in. “Darling, you say the sweetest things.”

Crowley melted under his touch for a moment before pulling away again and pointing a finger in Aziraphale’s face. “No! No! Bad! We’re supposed to finish unpacking your books today.”

Aziraphale looked around at the room filled with boxes. “With you here distracting me? Impossible. Now, I really think you should be kissing me right now.”

“Yesss…” Crowley leaned in slowly, then pulled away right before their lips met. “No! Stop that!”

Aziraphale let out a disappointed sigh. 

“Angel, we’ve lived here for six months and half of your books still have to be unpacked.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “It’s less than half, surely.”

“That’s not the point. _You_ were the one that wanted to get this done today.”

“Well, I changed my mind,” Aziraphale said petulantly. “I would like to be kissed by my husband, instead.”

I- I-” Crowley stammered. “…I really can’t argue with that.”

“Yes, I thought as much.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley expectantly. “So?”

Crolwey groaned. “One kiss. Then we have to get back to work, or you’ll be blaming _me_ , later. Now c’mere.”

Several minutes later, Aziraphale smiled against Crowley’s lips. “I thought you said one kiss?” He asked, not even trying to hide the smugness in his voice.

“Ssshut up.”


	21. Like Penguins

“You know,” Aziraphale said idly one morning over breakfast. “I’ve heard that penguins mate for life.”

“Yeah?” Crowley asked as he sipped his coffee.

“Yeah, and I was just wondering…” Aziraphale fidgeted in his seat, leaving the rest of his food untouched on his plate. “Do you think we could be like that?”

Crowley paused, his mug lifted halfway between the table and his lips. “…Do I think we could be penguins?”

Aziraphale let out an annoyed sigh. “No, Crowley! Do you think we might… mate for life?”

Crowley made a face. “Don’t say ‘mate,’ it’s so clinical.”

“I’m serious, Crowley.”

“So am I. And the answer’s yes.”

He said it so casually that Aziraphale didn’t even notice the answer at first. “Crowley, please, would you just- ‘Yes?’”

“Yes,” Crowley repeated. “Of course.”

Aziraphale looked stunned. “Oh.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Why? Is that a problem?”

“Oh, no, no, no! Of course not,” Aziraphale said waving his hands and fighting back a smile.

“‘Cause, I mean, I’ll leave if you get tired of me, but until then you’re stuck with me.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Like penguins.”

“Sure. Like penguins.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

“You know I’ll never get tired of you, right?”

Crowley suddenly found the contents of his mug incredibly interesting. “Gyuk. Y-yeah. Sure.” He was practically speaking directly into the mug when he mumbled, “But, ya know, it’d be fine if you did. I’d understand.” He was so focused on the coffee that he didn’t even notice Aziraphale get up. When gentle hands carefully pulled the mug from his grip, he jumped.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly as he straddled his lap. “I mean it. You’re stuck with me, too. Promise. And you know why?”

Crowley blinked. “Because we’re penguins?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Because I love you, you silly serpent. All of you.”

Crowley leaned his head on Aziraphale’s chest and closed his eyes. “I love you too, Angel.”

“I know, dearest.” Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I’m sorry I troubled you with my insecurities.”

Crowley poked Aziraphale in the side. “You can always trouble me with your insecurities, Angel. Anytime.”


	22. Sirius

Before he was known as a Principality, before he became the Guardian of the Eastern gate, back when the force of creation still thrummed through the angels’ veins, Aziraphale had the very humble task of painting the sky. He worked tirelessly, day and night (both of which he had been responsible for making) filling his canvas with every shade of blue imaginable, from dark to light. And while he worked, he watched the Starmakers begin their task.

Well, to be precise, he watched _one_ Starmaker.

He was haunted by hair burning bright as flame and eyes of the purest gold. It captivated him to the point that before he even realized what he was doing, he had splashed blazing yellow and vibrant orange all over his work. When Gabriel asked about it, he pretended it was intentional and called it the sunrise.

Aziraphale had finished the night sky long ago, and so was no longer allowed to cross the threshold to visit the starmaker, but he could watch him as he breathed light into stars and spun galaxies to life. If he imagined hard enough, he could sometimes catch him staring back.

Compared to the other starmakers, he was more chaotic in his approach, with nebulae smeared across his robe and stardust forever staining his fingers. Aziraphale had once watched him clumsily drag the tip of his wing through a bath of starlight, leaving a dripping trail of stars behind him before he noticed his mistake and cleaned himself up, his face nearly as red as his hair. (Much, much later, upon hearing a human call that same beautiful mess the milky way, Aziraphale would smile to himself and recall that blush.)

Once, during one of the rarer times when Aziraphale was completely focused on his own work (he had slowed his pace considerably since the starmakers took up their duties, though it hardly mattered; time didn’t even exist yet,) he was startled by a loud crash. He looked over to find the starmaker fallen atop a ladder which had collapsed. Aziraphale’s brief worry was quelled as the other starmakers helped him to his feat, laughing and teasing him for staring at someone and getting distracted. Their eyes met and Aziraphale hurriedly looked away, his face hot as the sun.

Despite this starmaker’s apparent carelessness, however, he cradled the stars stars in his hands as though each one was precious before gently placing them in their new homes. In fact, his hands were cupped in the same protective way when Aziraphale, blending the shades of twilight, turned around to find the redhead right behind him. Aziraphale dropped his paintbrush in his surprise and the starmaker took a startled step back.

“S-Sorry!” the starmaker stammered.

Aziraphale put a hand on his chest to calm himself. “It’s quite alright, dear. No need to worry.” He waited for the starmaker to speak, but was only met with silence as the redhead chewed on his lower lip and stared at Aziraphale with wide eyes. “Er… Can I help you?”

The starmaker’s eyes fell to his feet, which Aziraphale then noticed were covered in stardust, and he could see the path he had taken to get over here by the mess that had been left behind. “You’re almost done.”

Aziraphale turned back to look at the sky sadly. “Yes, I suppose I am.” The twilight was the very last bit, where the day bled into the night.

“I know it’s kinda still the day time, a-and you can’t see the stars in the day, but it’s sort also kinda like night time, so I just thought… maybe…” The starmaker thrust his hands toward Aziraphale, opening them to reveal a star so bright Aziraphale had to shield his eyes. “I- I- I messed it up,” the starmaker continued, looking mildly panicked. “The others say it’s too bright to go with the rest, but I thought maybe it might be bright enough to see in the day, so-” He caught himself rambling and clamped his lips shut.

Aziraphale smiled gently and carefully scooped the star out of the redhead’s hands. He might get in trouble if anybody noticed, but he just couldn’t say no. “I think it’s a brilliant idea.” The starmaker mumbled something in response that Aziraphale didn’t quite make out. “Pardon?”

“Sirius,” The starmaker repeated. “Its name is Sirius.”

“Oh?” Angels weren’t supposed to name the things they made, but Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to give the starmaker a reprimand. “How lovely!” He blew gently across his palms and Sirius floated playfully across the canvas before it settled into place as the brightest star in the sky, brilliant enough to even be seen at twilight.

“Thanks!” The starmaker smiled happily at Aziraphale before scurrying away, and Aziraphale found himself smiling as well as he finished up his work. When he was done, he added one final touch, dipping his brush in the footprints the redhead had left behind to add the light of Jupiter and Venus to the twilight to keep Sirius company.

Everything happened quickly after that, with the war, and the trials, and The Fall, until Aziraphale found himself atop the wall surrounding Eden, fretting over a flaming sword. Despite the circumstances, and despite the transformation of those golden eyes, Aziraphale was more than just a little glad to see the familiar face of a starmaker.


	23. Happy Valentine's Day!

“Happy Valentine’s day, Angel!”

Aziraphale had fully intended to to say ‘happy Valentine’s day’ back, but when he looked up from his book to see Crowley standing before him, the words died in his throat.

“Darling,” he said carefully. “What _are_ you wearing?”

Crowley looked down at his three piece suit, which would have been very dapper if not for the fact that it was made entirely out of tartan. “You don’t like it?”

Aziraphale struggled to respond. “Oh, no, I mean, yes, I like it, of course, but-”

“I got you a card,” Crowley interrupted, thrusting an envelope towards Aziraphale while looking quite pleased with himself.

Aziraphale, still thoroughly weirded out by the situation, gingerly accepted the card. “…Thank you?”

“Open it!” Crowley encouraged. 

The card he pulled out also had Tartan printed on it, and he was beginning to have serious concerns for Crowley’s sanity. At least, until he opened the card and read the message.

_Roses are red,  
Eggs come in a carton,  
It’s still out of style,  
But for you I’d wear tartan._

_Love, Crowley_

Aziraphale laughed. It was a goofy gesture, but Aziraphale found himself feeling oddly touched all the same. “Oh, darling,” he said, outstretching his arms. “Come here.”

Crowley eagerly settled in Aziraphale’s lap and looped his arms around his neck. “So. Have I effectively wooed you?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows up and down comically.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale began, still laughing. “You woo me with everything you do.” He pulled Crowley down to bring their lips together. “But, in the future, please leave the tartan-wearing to me, darling. You look positively ridiculous.”

Crowley just laughed and kissed him again.


	24. Mirage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst with a ridiculously sappy ending.

Crowley could stop time. He could bend the laws of the universe to his will, to make everything stop, to make it still, to buy himself a moment of safety, of silence, of peace. He could stop time, but he couldn’t stop this. Not the slow dawning of realization on Aziraphale’s face as he finally fit together the last of the puzzle pieces and figured out Crowley’s greatest secret, his greatest truth.

“You love me,” Aziraphale said slowly. “Don’t you?”

He had never lied to Aziraphale. What good would it do him now? “…Yeah,” Crowley admitted at last, cursing that tiny part of him that still dared to hold on to hope that Aziraphale might love him back.

That hope shattered as Aziraphale’s face transformed again, into a look that he couldn’t quite place. Until he could. Pity.

No. No, no, no, he wasn’t doing this. He saw Aziraphale’s hand reach out towards him, saw his lips begin to form an apology, and squeezed his eyes shut. It was too much.

When he opened his eyes again, he was alone, in that same barren desert that he had take Aziraphale and Adam to during Armageddon. That lonely little place of his between space and time.

He sat down heavily on the sand and wrapped his arms around his knees. He knew Aziraphale would find him here eventually. Aziraphale always found him. To think, he had once believed that was a good thing.

And he knew exactly how that conversation would go.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said as he sat down next to him. He looked off into the distance as Crowley turned to look at him, unable to even meet his eyes. “I do love you, of course, but only as I love all living things.”

“I know,” Crowley said numbly. “But maybe…” Crowley voice broke. He tried again. “Maybe that will be enough?”

Aziraphalde did look at him, then, sadness in his eyes. “You know it won’t be.”

“Oh, good lord, Crowley!” This time, Aziraphale’s voice came from behind him. “You can’t just run off like that!” Crowley turned to see Aziraphale, the _real_ Aziraphale behind him, looking fairly miffed. “And you!” Aziraphale said, pointing a finger at the vision of himself Crowley had conjured. “Enough of that! How dare you say those things to him?” Aziraphale stuck his hand through the mirage and waved it around and the image disappeared like a puff of smoke drifting off on the wind.

“Oi, watch it!” Crowley yelled as Aziraphale made a big show of brushing the sand off of the… other sand before taking the fake Aziraphale’s place next to him. And then, just because Crowley was feeling petty, he added, “I _made_ that!”

Aziraphale adjusted himself this way and that until he was finally settled, and then he looked at Crowley, still a little crossly, but with such warmth that Crowley’s heart stopped on its own accord. “Crowley,” he said matter-of-factly and Crowley could practically hear the ‘ _you idiot_ ’ that sat silent and bitten off on his tongue. “I love you.”

Crowley opened his mouth to respond, but Aziraphale held a finger and continued, “Not because I’m an angel, not because I love all living things, which you know isn’t even true, I’ve made my stance on moths and termites very clear!” He took a deep breath and visibly calmed down a little. “I love you because you’re _you_. Because of your kindness- don’t make that face- because of your humor, because you’re the one being on this planet with whom I would gladly spend another six thousand years with, and yes, even because you get all dramatic and run off and have conversations with illusions.”

“I…” Crowley didn’t know what to say. “But… But you looked at me with pity!”

“What? No, I di- I looked at you with guilt! I felt terrible for making you wait so long before I figured it out!”

Crowley shrugged. “Was nothing, Angel,” he mumbled. “I’d wait eternity for you.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Well, then it appears we are _both_ fools.” He cupped Crowley’s cheek. “May I kiss you, now?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to kiss the illusion?”

Crowley pretended to think about it. “Hmm, I think I’d prefer to kiss the ill- Hey! Aziraphale wait!”

Crowley sprung to his feet and laughed as he chased after Aziraphale. His angel loved him. Nothing else mattered. “Angel, wait! I was kidd- Oof!” Crowley crashed into Aziraphale as the angel stopped, and the the two would have fallen over if not for Aziraphale lifting Crowley in his arms and using the momentum to spin them around as he crashed their lips together.


	25. Hands

They held hands at the beginning of the world, long, slender fingers reaching out to still a set of palms twisting together in worry as the first raindrops fell.

They held hands at the end, short round fingers crossing the bridge of six thousand years to say 'I'm glad to have known you.'

But then the end wasn't the end, and what were they to do then? They had held _hands_.

"Yes, dear boy, I know," Aziraphale said calmly, somehow not seeming as completely terrified about these implications as Crowley was. "Perhaps... I mean, if you wouldn't be opposed... we could do it... again?"

Crowley blinked.

They could...

...Do it again?

_They could do it again_.

Turning away from Aziraphale, Crowley made a point of staring out the window to avoid eye contact. In the reflection of the glass, he could see Aziraphale's face fall until he realized that Crowley had stuck out his hand, palm open, fingers spread, an unanswered invitation.

He saw Aziraphale's soft smile as he intertwined their fingers and gave Crowley's palm a gentle squeeze.

"Ya know," Crowley said a couple of weeks later as they sat together in Aziraphale's back room. "One of us is going to have to let go eventually." His tone very clearly implied that Aziraphale would have to be the one to do it, as Crowley himself had no intention being the first to break.

Aziraphale raised their joined hands to his lips to dust gentle kisses across Crowley's knuckles. "Not to worry, dearest," he said, turning a page in his book with a thumb and smiling in that sweet-bastard way of his. "I only need the one hand to read."


	26. Close to You

Crowley wasn’t sure what exactly he had done to deserve this torture, but he was fairly certain that the punishment far outweighed the crime. To be sitting here, in the living room, so close, _so close_ to Aziraphale, but still more than an arm’s length away… It was the worst kind of torment. All he could do was gaze from afar.

The sunlight glanced off of the angel, bathing him in light and setting golden curls aglow. His beautiful face was calm and relaxed, completely at peace while his eyes moved rapidly across the page in front of him. And, oh, that skin. Crowley knew from experience that it was warm, and softer to the touch than any silk. He longed to climb into that round lap, comb his fingers through that feather-soft hair and claim those plush lips for himself. 

A warm blush was spreading across his angel’s cheeks, and Crowley wanted to place kisses to every inch of skin the color touched, across his face, down his neck, to the chest unfairly hidden behind a shirt and a waistcoat. Aziraphale was simply the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes-

“Crowley!” Aziraphale huffed and lowered his book.

“What?” Crowley asked innocently, his arms and head draped over the edge of the couch as he stared at Aziraphale from across the room.

“You _know_ what.” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at Crowley as he brought his book back up. “Stop it.”

But Crowley didn’t know. All that he knew was that Aziraphale was a vision, even in his outdated clothing and his silly, unnecessary reading glasses. When people spoke of the beauty of angels, it was Aziraphale they were speaking of-

“ _Crowley!_ ” Aziraphale lowered his book again, his blush darkening. “Stop saying I’m beautiful. It’s- It’s distracting!”

“But it’s the truth,” Crowley said simply. “To not say so would be a lie.”

“Yes, but-”

“Lying’s a sin, Angel,” Crowley pointed out, his lips twisting into a gentle, mischievous smile.

Aziraphale’s face somehow managed to turn even redder, probably recalling his own lie to the almighty Herself. “Yes, I know, but-”

“‘Sides, Angel.” Crowley’s face softened. “I’d never lie to you.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Just-Be quiet, please. I’m trying to read.”

Oh, to be held the way Aziraphale held a stack of books, the angel’s soft arms wrapped around him tightly, keeping him close-

“You’re welcome to join me,” Aziraphale pointed out, not even looking up from his book this time.

“Mmm, can’t.” Crowley sank deeper into the couch. “Comfortable.”

Oh, to look upon his angel and not have him to hold. It was worse than any damnation he had ever known.

Aziraphale sighed heavily and marked his page in his book. “You’re impossible,” he said, standing and crossing to room to where Crowley lay sprawled across the other couch. He set his book down on the coffee table and scooped Crowley up in his arms before sitting and settling the demon in his lap. Once they were both comfortable, he picked up his book and resumed his reading. “Next time you want something, just ask.”

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. “You’ll regret that, Angel. I always want to be right here with you.”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “My darling,” he said, placing a soft kiss on Crowley’s temple. “I assure you, the feeling’s completely mutual.”


	27. Discorporated

Crowley squinted as he looked into the light. Discorporating, as it turned out, was not an altogether unpleasant an experience, and actually felt more like waking up from a restful nap. All that he remembered was the sensation of falling– not at all as awful as his actual Fall, but rather quite gentle, in comparison.

There was no panic or fear, as he would have expected, and instead he just felt completely at peace. He lay there for a few moments, blinking up into the light and wondered if this was what humans saw when they died.

Suddenly, a shadow blocked out the glare, and Crowley saw Aziraphale’s concerned face staring down at him. “Aziraphale,” he murmured softly, his lips struggling to remember how to form words.

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale began poking and prodding him, thoroughly checking him over for injury. “Oh, my dear, are you alright?”

“‘M fine, Angel,” Crowley mumbled, squirming away from the touches as they tickled his skin. 

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked as he continued to look him over. “You took quite a tumble.”

“Aziraphale.” Aziraphale poked him in a particular sensitive spot and Crowley let out a squawk of half formed laughter. “Aziraphale. Aziraphale!” His tone grew annoyed and he batted Aziraphale’s hands away. “Aziraphale, I’m fine. More importantly, what about you doing here? Did you get discorporated, too?”

Aziraphale gave a disgruntled little sigh, peeved that his care-taking efforts had been rebuffed. “Crowley, you haven’t been discorporated,” he said, the concern in his tone making room for amusement now that he knew Crowley was okay.

“I haven’t?” Taking a better look, Crowley realized that the light that he had been looking into was _not_ of the afterlife variety and was simply the lamp that hung from the ceiling of the backroom of Aziraphale’s shop. In fact, as he took in his surroundings, he realized he was lying on the floor of said backroom with hardly a clue as to how he had gotten there. “What happened?”

Aziraphale’s lips twitched as though he were fighting off a smile. “I kissed you and you fainted.”

“You ki-” Oh. He remembered now. Warm lips against his own, gentle fingers playing at the hair at the nape of his neck, his nose filled with the aroma of cocoa, and paper, and ink, Aziraphale’s tongue licking its way into his mouth and then– nothing. How unfair that he should faint in the middle of _that_.

He sat up quickly, too quickly, and his skull knocked into Aziraphale’s and the angel grabbed his arm to steady them both with one hand while the other rubbed at his own forehead. “Crowley-”

“Kiss me again,” Crowley interrupted, ignoring the way his head swam from the change in position and trying not to think about how pathetic he sounded as he begged. “Please. I won’t faint this time, I promise!”

Aziraphale lowered his hand from his head, a glint in his eye. “…You _promise_?” he asked, a barely-there bastard-smirk tugging at his mouth.

Crowley, unable to trust his voice as his heart leapt into his throat, nodded.

“Well, in that case…” Aziraphale wrapped one arm securely around Crowley’s back, and cupped his cheek with his free hand. He brought their lips together once again, and a tingle shot down Crowley’s spine at the feeling of the angel’s soft lips against his own.

He came to a few moments later, cradled in warm, soft arms and pressed against Aziraphale’s chest as it shook with silent laughter.


	28. Declarations of Love in the Rain

Crowley invented heartfelt declarations of love in the rain. 

No, literally.

At the start of the most famous rainfall in history, Aziraphale felt someone grab his wrist right before he boarded the ark.

He looked back to find Crawly making quite the sight with his long hair nearly black in its drenched state and water rivulets highlighting his sharp features. “Crawly!” he said in surprise, shouting to be heard over the downpour. “You look…” _Stunning. Gorgeous. Breathtaking._ “…Wet.” He bit his tongue and mentally cursed at himself.

Crawly’s lips quirked up in the barest hint of a smile, amusement dancing in his clever eyes.

Aziraphale spared a nervous glance over his shoulder. They were nearly out of time. The rain was already coming down in buckets, and any moment now it would start flooding. His feet itched to take him up the plank and on board the ship to safety, but there was something in the way Crawly was looking at him that made him stay put.

“Noah’s grandchildren,” Crawly said.

Aziraphale blinked. Whatever he had been expecting Crawly to say, it certainly wasn’t _that_. “What about them?”

“There’s a bit more of them than I remember.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. Crawly was right. Between them all, Noah’s children had adopted nearly three dozen kids of their own in the last twenty-four hours. “She just said Noah’s family,” Aziraphale said defensively with a brief glance heavenward. “She didn’t say they had to be blood related.”

Instead of mocking him, as Aziraphale had half-expected, Crawly smiled, and Aziraphale’s heart, which had been still just a moment before, began beating rapidly. He had seen Crawly smile before, on the wall. But that smile had been one of delight, whereas _this_ was one of pure adoration.

“Would it be weird if I said I love you?” Crawly asked, catching Aziraphale completely off-guard.

“…Yes,” Aziraphale said flatly.

“Oh.” Crawly’s grin didn’t falter. “I love you,” he said with a shrug.

Aziraphale looked down at the water which was now up to his ankles. “Can we discuss this on the ark?”

Crawly shook his head. “I should be going,” he said. “Just thought I should tell you, though.”

This time it was Aziraphale’s turn to catch Crawly by the wrist as he turned to leave. “Crawly,” he said sternly, trying his hardest not to ruin the effect by smiling. “I love you, too.” Crawly’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Now, would you please get on the ark?”

Many years later, when Aziraphale read a love declaration done in a rain shower in one of his books, he would joyfully show Crowley, who would inevitably turn a deep red and promptly tell Aziraphale to ‘ssshut up!’

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on Tumblr!](acuteangleaziraphale.tumblr.com)


End file.
